


Between the Lines

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gender-neutral Reader, Grief/Mourning, Library Bar, M/M, Other, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Past Relationship(s), Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Sam’s been down lately and you can guess why, so you try to cheer him up without directly pointing out a subject he seems loathe to talk about. Freaking Winchesters.





	Between the Lines

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set either sometime within an alternate S5 or an alternate S6. This little thing was originally written for something else but I liked it enough to repurpose it. I don’t write a lot for Sam but I do like him a lot, it’s just that most of my ideas don’t pan out, but I like this one because respecting your SOs and their past relationships is an underrated thing in fic, I think. I’m certainly guilty of brushing past it, so here’s my attempt at acknowledging Sam needed a human-sized teddy bear for what happened with Jess.

You burst into the room, practically ready to exit your skin you’re so excited. You scan over the usual suspects until you find that familiar flannel-clad back, hunched over a book (not that you can see a book, but it’s a fair assumption). “Sam!” you say and latch onto him from behind. “Sam Sam Sam Sam Saaaaaam!” you sing and tug on his shirt. “You’ll never guess what I found in this back-asswards little town!”

“Uh, what?” Sam asks, looking overwhelmed as you slide down to sit next to him.

“A _library bar_ ,” you say, smiling so big it feels like your face might split in two.

Despite your amazing find, the room is quiet. It’s okay; you expected that. Genius takes time to be admired, after all.

“Wow,” Dean says. “I didn’t know you could make a _bar_ sound _boring_.”

“Shut up Dean; you and your little ‘hunting’ party,” you say and wave your hand at them, keeping your eyes on Sam even as Dean and Gabriel laugh and Cas asks them what a library bar is. Sam is trying to keep an even expression but you can easily see how tired he is. No surprise– he’s barely slept all week. Not that he slept incredibly well before, but something has to be done and a nice, calm night on the town is just what the doctor ordered. You hope. “It’s a trendy thing I’ve seen in bigger cities and it’s pretty much as advertised– books and booze. While these assholes are going to a boring _normal_ bar, we can have a nice time of our own.”

“I don’t know, I–”

Your face crumples and Sam looks startled; like he thinks he’s the only one who can pull off the sad puppy eyes. Sucker. “We haven’t been on a date in forever. Please?”

He sighs but then forces a small smile. “You're right; I guess we can–”

“Great!” You hop up and over to grab your stuff. “I called ahead to scope it out and they have a Douchebag Surcharge, so put your phone on vibrate and keep it in your pocket or your murse or whatever, and leave the computer here.”

Sam smiles a little more genuinely. “You ‘scoped it out’? Is there a hunt here I should know about?”

“No, but if we leave soon we’ll get there before the typical crowd and score ourselves a nice cozy couch or loveseat,” you say and hold out your hand to help Sam up. “It’s less than a mile away. The goobers can have the car.”

“Have fun,” Cas says, looking at you and Sam longingly as the aforementioned goobers make their way out. Yeah, this does sound like something he’d enjoy more. Poor Cas. Maybe some other time.

“Yeah, have fun getting drunk and debating Hemingway,” Gabriel says. He stops at the door. “Actually I think I’ve done that. In the most literal way. Still; even Hemingway was a party compared to you two nerds.”

“Seriously. I feel like I should be shaking you two out for your lunch money right now,” Dean says and slings on his jacket.

“You’d have to hold Sam by the waist just so his head doesn’t hit the floor.” You wave. “Don’t call for bail!”

Dean flips you off, and they're gone. You sigh and take a moment to prepare yourself for the night ahead.

“Are you ready?”

You turn with a smile that you hope looks normal. Sam looks so tired but he’s trying, for you, and that’s worth more than he knows. You hold out your hand, Sam takes it, and you trade the lukewarm motel room for chilly winter air. The walk is leisurely and Sam is quiet– likely stuck in his own head in thoughts and memories and altogether something unpleasant. You squeeze his hand at random points and he squeezes back every time.

You arrive at the bar, which is entirely unmarked like the little hole in the wall it is. It’s as tiny on the inside as it looks from the outside; a narrow room filled with mismatched but comfortable-looking furniture, way too warm, and it smells like an old book infused with whisky stains.

Sam relaxes almost immediately and you barely resist the urge to pat yourself on the back. You send him off to find some good seating and you shimmy between a couch and the wall to get to the bar that lines the back. There are only a couple of people in the place and they’re seated already. You buy a couple of drinks several notches up from your usual standard and then go to where Sam has pushed two armchairs closer together. He’s already nose deep in a book.

You set the drinks on the slender table in between the chairs and Sam looks up. His expression is less tight. Still worn, and the dark circles under his eyes are a concern, but those are both things that sleep and time can hopefully fix.

“Thanks,” he says and lifts his glass.

“No problem.” To say the least. But you pull out your own book and sink into cushions and muted music and conversations. The night passes easily. More people come, some come and go, but the noise level keeps to the quiet side. You and Sam switch between taking sips of your drinks and holding hands. Whenever you lace fingers there’s the warm thrill of that supposedly simple touch, and you soak in the moment every time Sam runs his thumb over the back of your hand.

Eventually he puts his book down and sighs like he’s satisfied. However you’re only almost done with a _really_ good chapter. “Just a few more pages,” you say and try to speed through it.

“Take your time,” Sam says and leans back. His hand is loose in yours, and you smile into your book. Maybe you will give yourself that pat on the back. But later. After you find out how the killer escaped.

You and Sam come out to a barely-lit street and air much colder than when you first went inside. You push yourself against his side, he wraps an arm around you, and you both start walking.

“Thank you,” he says.

“No problem.”

“No, I mean thank you for…for understanding about…” He stops and so do you. He hesitates, then says, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I wasn’t thinking about– I’m sorry if I–”

You hold his arms and he stops. “It’s okay, Sam. Jess was important to you.”

He grimaces and pulls you in for a tight hug. You wrap your arms around him and he rests his chin on your shoulder. “She was. And you _are_.”

“I know. You’ve never made me doubt that.” You kiss his chin. “She treated you well and cared about you and I like her a lot for that. I’m sorry for what happened to her and I hope her heaven is good to her. And…I’ll never be mad at you for mourning someone you loved. You loved her, you love me. There’s nothing bad about either of those.”

He nods, and leaves it at that. That’s okay, because sometimes there’s no way out but through– and he has you by his side for it. For every moment of it, if you have your way. And later, when you get into bed, you curl around him and he clings to you like he thinks the same thing. Both of you sleep through the night.


End file.
